


Cyar'ika

by Theyna_Shipper



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Crack Swiftly Overtaken By Feelings, Din Djarin's Brain Cells are Working Very Hard, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Happy Ending, M/M, Nicknames, One-sided Fake Relationship, Oops I ship this now, Pet Names, Pining, crack with feelings, injuries, not hard enough, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyna_Shipper/pseuds/Theyna_Shipper
Summary: “You should come with me, when I leave” he blurts out. “I mean, if you want to. For something to do.”He raises one eyebrow. “Really?”He shrugs. “Why not? I’ve just been picking up jobs, same with you I assume.”“I thought you worked alone. What’s in it for you?”Under the helmet, Din bites his lip. “I’ve gotten used to traveling with someone,” he admits. “I… I wouldn’t mind the company.”“If you’re sure you want me,” Mayfeld laughs. “Sure, brown-eyes, I’ll go with you.”Ah.Brown-eyes.He’d nearly forgotten about that.Well, it’s better than just ‘Mando’.When Din takes on a new traveling companion, they find themselves using nicknames quite a lot.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 27
Kudos: 177





	Cyar'ika

**Author's Note:**

> I ship this now apparently, due to a pinterest post that sent me down a rabbit hole. Could be worse, honestly. Don't worry if you're one of my regular readers, this was just a little break from my other stuff, and we'll be back to my regularly irregularly scheduled reylo fluff and angst soon, but I had this idea and had to get it down. 
> 
> I'm embarrassed that I look up this much Star Wars lore to be able write this. Just because I write about the Star War does not mean I care about the Star War. Oh well. 
> 
> This started as crack but acquired feelings along the way. Oops. Please enjoy.

Din steps off his ship in the ever-familiar spaceport on Tatooine. Peli Motto greets him warmly, and looks around him as if expecting to see something else, but finding nothing. 

“He’s gone,” Din says shortly. “I found his people.” 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s… good for him.” 

He nods, and pulls out his credit bag. “Can you fix the ship?” The new ship suffers as much wear and tear as the old one on his travels and needs almost as much repair. 

“Call it a gift from an old friend.” 

“I insist.” 

She takes the credits, and sets her droids to work on the ship while Din heads out to wander through Mos Eisley. 

He’s back on Tatooine again, no surprise. There’s not even a bounty this time, he just needed to be somewhere familiar, somewhere he felt like he knew again. 

Because Bo-Katan has finally claimed the Darksaber (won in a battle that was _not_ entirely staged, as his still-healing bruises will attest) and is rebuilding a Mandalorian homeworld that he will have no connection to. 

Because Cara Dune and Greef Karga are making _respectable_ their old Nevarro, til it is no longer a place a man like him belongs. 

Because Boba Fett and Fennek are cleaning up the criminal, drug-laden underworlds that keep so many planets from developing. 

Because the child is where he belongs now, with his people, learning to use his gift, and now Din is as alone and directionless as he was when he first found the child, except somehow it is so much worse because everyone around him has something that he does not. 

There is no other word for it: he is lonely.

Which means he _really_ doesn’t expect to see a familiar face when he walks into the Mos Eisley cantina, sitting at the bar and drumming his feet against the floor. 

“Mayfeld.” 

The man starts, nearly spilling his drink, and snaps his head around to look at Din. Letting out a long, slow breath, he growls, “Try to keep the name quiet, I’m still legally dead.” 

“Sorry. Mind if I sit?”

“Sure.” 

Din takes a seat at the bar and purchases a drink to keep his place. “What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you, I guess. Ending up in the same place everyone who doesn’t know what to do with themself ends up.”

Din sighs. “How could you tell?”

“You don’t have the kid with you.” He sips his drink. “What happened?”

“It– the rescue mission– it went– well, we did it,” he manages finally. “A jedi found him, and took him back… to his people.” 

“Well, you seem absolutely thrilled with that.” 

“Did I ask you?” he snaps, lifting up the bottom of his helmet to knock back his drink. 

“Sorry,” Mayfeld grunts. “It’s just… you went through so much trouble to find him, it doesn’t seem right to see you so miserable like this.” 

“Am I really that obvious?” he asks, half to himself. 

“Pretty much.” He sips his drink. “Look, can’t you visit this kid with these… jedi or whatever? Check on him?”

“I don’t want to give him the wrong impression,” he admits. “Make him think that I’m… that I’m coming back. To stay.” He doesn’t want to give himself the wrong idea, either, he supposes. 

_You are a clan of two,_ the Armorer had said. Was he really supposed to break up that clan?

“Well,” is all Mayfeld replies. 

Din casts around for a topic to fill the silence. “Do you have a job out here?” 

“When I can get one.” 

So no. “You should come with me, when I leave” he blurts out. “I mean, if you want to. For something to do.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Why not? I’ve just been picking up jobs, same with you I assume.” 

“I thought you worked alone. What’s in it for you?”

Under the helmet, Din bites his lip. “I’ve gotten used to traveling with someone,” he admits. “I… I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

“If you’re sure you want me,” Mayfeld laughs. “Sure, brown-eyes, I’ll go with you.” 

Ah. _Brown-eyes._ He’d nearly forgotten about that. 

Well, it’s better than just ‘Mando’.

* * *

“Who’s this?” Peli asks when he returns to his ship with Mayfeld. 

“Friend of mine,” he says shortly. The other man just looks surprised to be classified as a _friend._

“Migs.” He waves, and Din is reminded that the man does in fact have a first name. “Good to meet you.” 

She waves back. “You boys stay safe out there, alright?” 

“Thanks for fixing up the ship,” he replies. “See you.”

* * *

And so they cast about everywhere and nowhere, picking up jobs as they can along the way to feed themselves and fuel the ship. Both are less quick to pull the trigger on a target than they once were. They’ve changed, possibly even for the better. 

“Hey, brown-eyes,” Migs calls from the cabin. “There’s someone on the comm for you. Some chick named… Bo-Katan?” 

“Bo-Katan?” He takes the comm. “Yeah, it’s me, what’s up?” 

“Hey, good to hear from you,” she says. “Listen, they’re cleaning out some ruins on the other side of the planet here, opening it for new buildings, but they ran into a pretty nasty mess of monsters. We could use some extra guns. Experienced guns. If you happen to be passing by the system?”

He checks his coordinates. “We’re not too far.”

“‘We’?”

“I’ve got a friend with me,” he grunts. 

“I think we can manage that,” she replies. “I won’t be able to meet you down there myself, but… you should think about… think about staying. We could use you here.”

“Maybe,” is all he says, but he knows the answer is no. It is good that there will be a Mandalorian homeworld again. It is good to have a place like that he can go to. But at the same time, he feels certain he can never quite belong there. 

“Is that a job?” Migs asks when he hangs up the comm.

“Yeah. It’s a job.” 

“Bounty?” 

“No, they need to clear a nest of monsters from an area. Make sure all your guns are loaded.” 

“Alright, brown-eyes.” He returns to piloting the ship. 

Flying with Migs is almost as quiet as flying by himself. Migs might ramble when he’s anxious, but neither man is particularly inclined to unnecessary conversations. Still, it is not a lonely sort of silence. When they are eating in silence, tired after a job, or just flying, there’s no need to feel the silence with unnecessary words. It makes the few conversations they have more enjoyable. 

Though Migs is not ready to talk about his time with the empire, and Din is not ready to talk about Grogu, they are both men who’ve had to fight their way through life, and have enough in common. 

He’s beginning to realize he never liked solitude, but was only scared that loneliness would be even more oppressiveness when he had gotten used to not being alone. 

But, he thinks, he could get used to this.

* * *

The officer who greets him on still-barren Mandalore immediately stops them. _“He’s not Mandalorian,”_ she says Mando’a. 

_“Does it matter?”_

_“This place is special. Sacred. He can’t be there.”_

“What’s she saying, brown-eyes?”

She raises her eyebrows. _“I suppose we can make an exception for your husband.”_

 _“He’s n–”_ Din begins, but then realizes that this makes things many times simpler, and Migs will have no idea anyways, so he may as well roll with it. “Come on, _cyar’ika,”_ he says, leading Migs away. 

Another officer gives them instructions and warnings, which Din translates for his ‘husband’. 

The nests are almost even more treacherous than they were warned, and there are more than a few close scrapes. 

“Watch it, cyar’ika!” Din shouts just as Migs nearly turns his ankle in a hole. “You trying to get yourself killed?”

“Geez, brown-eyes,” he growls. 

“Just watch your step next time.”

The third gunner rolls xyr eyes and guides them further along, and they both watch their step a little more carefully the rest of the mission. 

In the end, they stay on Mandalore for three days, in which mercifully no one asks about Din’s husband in any language that Migs comprehends, and Migs does not ask what _cyar’ika_ means. 

All in all, Din has had worse jobs.

* * *

They are soon reminded of the dangerous work they are in when Migs gets shot on the job. 

“Cyar’ika!” Din shouts when he sees him go down. He rapidly guns down the remaining fighters and rushes to him. “Where?” 

Migs points to a spot near his hip, and Din pushes aside the clothes there. _Crap._

“I’m going to carry you back to the ship, don’t do anything stupid,” he says, then hoists the other man over his shoulders. 

Din runs to the ship as quickly as he can without jostling the injured man, and lays him down on the bunk. “Stay with me, cyar’ika,” he growls. 

The wound looks slightly less serious now that he can look at it properly, but it’s still bleeding concerningly. 

Din yanks off his glove so he can work more easily, applying pressure to the wound until it stops bleeding. 

_Bacta,_ he thinks. _I need bacta._

He keeps a small jar of it on ship, for emergencies, but it’s expensive so he only has a little. He leaves to go get it, but when he returns Migs is already unconscious. 

“Hey! Cyar’ika. Wake up.” He gently pats at his face. “ _Cyar’ika. Wake up._ ” His heart leaps into his throat, _Please wake up._

He gives him a rough, and finally, Mig’s eyes (blue eyes, he notices for the first time) slowly flutter open. 

“Don’t die on me, cyar’ika.” He tends to the wound with the bacta and bandages, checking periodically to make sure he stays awake, until finally the bleeding is slowed and he is stable, and slowly drifts into a safe, unfevered sleep.

Din realizes how sweaty he is inside his helmet, and seeing how deeply asleep Migs is he carefully removes it. The beskar is cold against his ungloved hands. 

He carefully wipes his face, and sits down against the opposite wall, watching the other man sleep. 

He’d once heard that if you say something enough times it starts to become true. It seems a little ridiculous, but he realizes he should have stopped calling Migs _cyar’ika_ once they left Mandalore, because it is starting to get into his head. 

And it feels a little ridiculous, because it’s Migs Mayfeld. Migs. Kriffing. Mayfeld. 

Not that Din has any delusions of grandeur for himself, he puts no stock in titles– bounty hunter, Queen of Mandalore, they all mean little to him– but sometimes about this is… unexpected. At least not what he’d imagined if he’d ever imagined, well, falling in love. 

_Keep your head on, Din,_ he thinks to himself and goes to wash up before Migs wakes up. 

“Brown-eyes?” 

Din is freshly armored and helmeted when Migs wakes up. “How are you feeling, cyar’ika?”

“Like I got shot.” 

Din smiles under the helmet. “Big surprise.” 

“Thanks for patching me up,” he grunts, trying to sit up, but Din pushes him back down. 

“You need rest, cyar’ika. Don’t want to have to do that twice.” 

“Thanks,” he says drily. “Good to know I’m worth the trouble.” 

Din chuckles slightly, all while thinking, _You are._

* * *

It is after a particularly difficult series of bounties that they find themselves resting on Nevarro for the first time in a long time, Din sprawled in a booth in the back of a cantine and Migs with his head in his lap. 

Cara finds them after a little while, and they slowly sit up. Migs is nervous to see her again, after their past encounters, and makes up some quick excuse to leave. 

“Alright, cyar’ika,” Din mumbles and turns back to Cara. 

Her eyebrows are raised long after the other man has left. “Cyar’ika?” 

_Crap._ Cara may not know Mando’a, but she’s been around him long enough to have picked up a few words. And certainly that one. 

“I…”

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Mando?”

* * *

Din returns to the ship having been forced by Cara to admit his _crush_ (and stars, it all sounded so stupid saying it out loud), and the man himself is waiting there. 

“Hey, brown-eyes, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yeah?” 

“What does cyar’ika mean?”

He swears he’d bite his lip hard enough to bleed. “Why?”

“As I was leaving the cantina, there was a woman there, she said something about… ‘my man.” I told her we weren’t together, but she just winked and said ‘Okay, cyar’ika.” He blurts out quickly. “So… what does it mean. 

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, realizing the loth-cat is out of the bag. “Alternatively translated as darling, beloved, but… sweetheart. It means sweetheart.” 

And there. He has done it, and made a fool of himself and no doubt lost a very good friend. 

“Sweetheart, huh? You know, a guy could get used to that.” 

Din is stopped in his tracks by this, _Does not compute_ surely flashing across his visor. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” 

“I–” and then the whole ridiculous story comes out, about how they’d thought they were married on Mandalore, and how the nickname had stuck, and then he found he didn’t want to give it up. 

“Dammit, brown-eyes,” he chuckles. “That really is a piece of work.” 

“I’m sorry, Migs, I didn’t mean–”

“Well, don’t stop now.” He carefully reaches out to squeeze one of Din’s hands. 

And with that shaking hand he removes his helmet and looks directly into Migs’ eyes and whispers, _“Cyar’ika.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Would love a like and comments! This is such a rarepair so it would be nice to hear from other people who like it :D


End file.
